Fangirl Merchandise

Sunday, September 30, 2012

A school friend of mine knew Rian Johnson, and was on set at one point (jealous...). Even read the script before it was shot. She talked it up so much, I found myself enthralled before seeing any trailers. And then the trailers just reinforced my eagerness to see it.

"Looper," ladies and gents, did not disappoint.

The world building was well done and believable. The effects were great--not too much and not too little. The acting was top notch. I totally believed Gordon-Levitt and Willis playing the same character. They tweaked Joe's gorgeous mug with a prosthetic nose, contacts, and I think they did something to his eyebrows to make him look like Willis, or Willis-like as it were.

There were twists and turns in the film with an ending I didn't see coming--not quite. And what a helluva ride it was, watching the protagonist play that, as well as an antagonist. Am I referring to the past version of Joe or his future self? You'll have to watch to find out.

Friday, September 28, 2012

It's not as interesting as I thought/wanted it to be. First I have to say I really hate the time jump to the present, with minor flashbacks on after the blackout. I think if the first season had been focused upon the fallout of the blackout, it would have been more interesting. A time jump would have been better served for later seasons to keep things fresh.

It has a Lost meets Hunger Games vibe, and I have to say I am not crazy about this show's hybrid version of Kate meets Katniss. Her acting is not compelling to me, and at this point, I don't care whether her character lives or dies. She engages the audience zero much. The story should focus on her uncle, and he's only semi-impressive (which would make him not "impressive" so much as okay).

Also, I think it should really be called "Blackout Hell." I do have to wonder how much rampant depression or attempted suicides there be if there were no more Apple products...

One big plus in this show's favor? Giancarlo Esposito! So glad to see some of my favorite Homicide: Life on the Streets actors working regularly.

Tuesday, September 25, 2012

That word is thrown around very casually. Like "star" or "beautiful" is thrown around in the industry. I don't know one way or the other if Billie was intoxicated, but from looking at the vid, he seemed to be in control of his faculties, but just...well, really, really pissed off at their time being cut on stage. I was shocked that he's [now allegedly] headed to rehab as opposed to the once upon a time popular "anger management," as so many celebs had to do just a few years back.

Monday, September 24, 2012

This is a celebrity encounter that happened by sheer coincidence. I had planned to see the new Judge Dredd movie at its midnight opening, even getting the morning off work the next day to sleep in. But that did not happen and I had to cancel my plans minutes before the show started.The next night I found myself in all too familiar shoes: I had no clean dishes and I hadn't eaten dinner yet. After getting the dishes going, I debated waiting until they were done to eat, but it would be quite the wait.

Then an idea came to me. The theater down the street, Hollywood Palms, offers a full menu to order off of while you watch the latest films. I figured this was a great opportunity to see "Dredd" and eat.I arrived at the theater and ordered my ticket, even referring to the film as "Judge Dredd" instead of its proper name "Dredd 3D" - much to the box office attendant's confusion. I headed toward the line to be seated when I looked over and saw that velvet rope line dividers were up. Hollywood Palms does this when they have a special guest visiting for a weekend. The last time I had been here when they had a guest was when Zachary Gordon of "Diary of a Wimpy Kid" fame was in for the latest film in the franchise. There wasn't a crowd and it was pretty late in the night, I figured whoever was in this weekend had left already. I looked over at the people milling in the area and the face of a man sitting at a table caught my eye. It looked like Michael Madsen; I'd recognize that mug and tilt of the head anywhere. I looked up at a banner hanging over the area which in huge letters said MICHAEL MADSEN.

"Holy crap, it's Michael Madsen!" I actually said aloud. I immediately knew I needed to meet this man. Did he have a new film out he was promoting? I didn't see anything on the movie showtimes board. I walked over prepared to stand in whatever line there was - although that turned out to be a line of two other people.

I had nothing to have signed. I figured I could get a picture with him, but there was low lighting in the establishment and I only had a cellphone without a flash. I started thinking of what else I could do when I started reading the autograph rules. Included among them was a statement that he didn't take posed photos - except with his professional photographer available for a fee with onsite printing. I leaped. I paid for a photograph voucher and stood in the line of one other person.

Before I could regather myself, I was up. Michael Madsen looks over at me. Our eyes meet. My mind goes blank. I walk up and he wishes me a good evening with his comfortingly familiar voice and a handshake. I take his hand and start saying how much I love his work, trying to recall every title I've ever seen him in off the top of my head.The photographer refocuses me and we turn for the photo. My excitement burst from my face.

The picture is taken and I immediately get back into the list. In my head I wanted to talk "Species" with him as I knew he hated doing the second film, but I did love his performance in both of them. But I mention "Die Another Day" in my list and went off on a tangent how much I wish the Pierce Brosnan films had continued because his role was clearly meant to go on. Madsen took that path to go on and he talked about his work on the Bond film and confirmed there was talk of being a reoccurring new character, even if Pierce hadn't come back (before the reboot had happened). He joked that being in a Bond film was supposed to help his career, but he gave a comedic look around like: When was that going to happen?

A man, whom I assume was his manager, came over to usher me away, but he did so with courtesy and joked about Madsen's in demand good looks. I walked over to the photo printer still in awe of having met the legend. I didn't even notice my picture was done printing and the attendant was handing it to me. She had to call my attention a few times before I realized what was going on. Picture in hand, I started texting people I knew who would care that Madsen was in town.When I left "Dredd" ninety minutes later I was delighted to see those empty velvet ropes were now filled with people there to see Michael Madsen. "Good", I thought, "he doesn't deserve to have an empty line waiting for him ever."
Want to share your best fangirl/fanboy moment? Submit to Jillian.Robi@gmail.com today! Want to read a great fangirl story? Check out Fangirl--available on paperback and Kindle!

Sunday, September 23, 2012

So, for today's blog, I'm going to watch the show, and post comments on Twitter as it happens, then immediately post these highlights (i.e. archive the tweets) and thoughts when it's over. Hope you enjoy!

Okay, this Emmy opener is odd, but hey--Kathy effin' Bates!

I totally dig Ellen giving Jimmy Kimmel some pants, though.

Jimmy Kimmel just went political on the #Emmys. Nice.

I like Jimmy Kimmel. He was funny at the Flavor Flav Comedy Central Roast, and he's doing great so far tonight.

Jimmy Kimmel makes "fat pants" joke. Winning!

I felt the comedy mashup was kinda weak, honestly...

And Eric Stonestreet wins for "Modern Family." Never watched this show.

Saturday, September 22, 2012

Britney--I grew up on her. I'm not too keen on her music these days, but I do like her as a judge. I don't know much about Demi, but she's an okay judge as well. I thought I'd miss Paula (but not whatshername, though), but...the show has marched on without missing a beat.

Only two weeks in, and I already have some favorites in mind:

There were a couple of more, but I didn't want to spam my own blog with vids. So yeah, if you haven't checked out this show yet, give it a shot! There are definitely some gems to see.

And then there's Simon. I effin' love Simon Cowell. Him and Gordon and Piers--I just think they're amazing. British accents don't hurt.

Thursday, September 20, 2012

Project Runway is another show that I had no intention of watching until my mother coerced me. Frankly, I thought it was going to be some lame rip off of America's Next Top Model.

Boy, how wrong was I.

I LOVE Project Runway, and I find Heidi to be quite likable. My girl crushes are limited to brunettes, but Heidi is an awesome exception.

I think what I enjoy most about this show is Heidi, Tim Gunn, the zingers from Michael Kors, and the awesome challenges, which makes the contestants think on their feet. Anything that promotes folks to think outside the box, I will absolutely adore (hence my love of cooking competitions).

Sadly, my favorite was cut last week--Gunnar. I don't think the judges fully understood his vision, or his style. Hopefully, that won't be the last I see of him though.

Tuesday, September 18, 2012

The season premier of Glee came on last week, and I'm just now getting to it.

Honestly, I was hard pressed to rouse any desire to even watch it this season. Part of the reason was that after meeting a couple of cast members [after the EW party at San Diego Comic Con] who were ambivalent to fans (to put it nicely), cooled me from the show in general.

And then with the revolving door of cast and the seeming replacement of Sue Sylvester, one of my main reasons to watch, and Kurt graduating, my other favorite potentially gone...there just didn't seem to be a reason.

And of course, this season's opening number was the most annoying song of the year, "Call Me, Maybe." Gosh, if you're gonna attempt to pick someone up, "maybe" have a bit more confidence...

Anyway.

I was happy to find that Sue and "Porcelain" are still part of the main cast (though it is sad to see him still hanging around the school...). I have to be honest and say I don't care too much about what's going on at this point with the other characters...but perhaps that might change in the upcoming weeks.

And Whoopi--that's always a plus.

And Trouty Mouth. He's hot. They should get him an actual another black girlfriend.

Monday, September 17, 2012

I'd seen Nick and James in Chicago. In Chicago I nagged Froggy (the con photographer) into adding the
Nick/James sandwich to the photo op menu. When the three of us were in
the photo tent I (gently?) shoved them together in an attempt to
get a fun and slashy result.

Nick, who's been hip to my slash
fixation from day one, immediately dropped to his knees right in front
of James' crotch. WOO HOO! I silently prayed that Froggy took that
photo (it would almost be worth breaking into his office to get my
hands on that print), and was super delighted that Nick was colluding in
my ridiculous schtick. I had my hands on James' shoulders
and could feel him tense up, like he was uncomfortable with the blatant
gay sexploitation. I honestly thought he'd be OK with it because
I'd cajoled him and Gareth David-Lloyd into a wonderfully slashy and,
according to Froggy, "just plain wrong" photo at Dragon Con the year
before, and he seemed fine with it. However, I sensed his discomfort
and remedied that by throwing Nick under the bus (with love!), shoving
his shoulder (as he knelt in front of James. Let's say that again: as he knelt in front of James) and declaring, "God, Nick! You're so inappropriate. Come on!" He stood up and Froggy photographed a somewhat stale sandwich.I had a day to think about that and felt increasingly bad about pushing James, metaphorically and physically, into a homo tableau, so I apologized to him in the next
day's autograph line. He assured me it was okay, but in a less than
enthusiastic way. "You were fine, Julie. You've never crossed the
line. I mean, you've never grabbed my ass." Chicago was a blast, and I had a lot of great moments with both Buffy boys but my imposition
of my slash fantasies on the fragile actors still didn't totally sit well with me.

I ended up emailing Jacqui, Nick's manager a similar apology (Nick seemed to have loved taking part in my smutty scenario but I knew there may be some similar
underlying issues for him). Not in a brown-nosey way, but in a "I hope I
didn't make him feel bad" way.WHICH BRINGS US TO BOSTON.FINALLY!On the second day I went up to Nick's autograph
table and told Nick I was sorry if I was out of line in Chicago.
He was all shrugs and smiles and didn't seem to care in the least.
Then Jacqui gave me an awesome half-serious, half-kidding lecture about
how, for that day's James/Nick photo op, she was "counting on me to
use good judgment." I replied, "WHAT?!" I poked Nick's shoulder (he
was giggling). "Now I'm expected to be the one with good
judgment?!" Thinking back on it, yeah, possibly ONLY in comparison to
Nick I would be the one to rely on for good judgment, but still. Jacqui punctuated her admonishment with a stern expression but I got a
happy boost from her sense of humor even if it was arguably couched in a
PSA against criminal sexual conduct.

Several hours later I did indeed find myself in the photo tent with Nick and James. It went something like this: "Listen up, you guys. Jacqui put me in charge of exercising good judgment when wrangling this photo op. Now, I know how you two love getting into you homoerotic poses but
you're gonna have to settle down and keep that shit to a minimum."

Jill, I pretty much always think I'm funny, but luckily, remarkably this time the guys agreed. The two of them immediately started giggling, laughing and wrestling around as James declared, "I don't know...you
know how we are. Can't keep our hands off each other..." And that's
when Nicky grabbed him from behind, James made some kind of low,
sexy noise, I leaned in and grinned and history was made.

I didn't
know until I picked up my photo that Nick had an intently lascivious
expression on his face as he groped James' chest, and James was in turn
straining forward from Nick's possessive embrace, displaying a fully
male, aggressive, aroused and abandoned expression of his own.WINNING!!!And, as you know, that photo was somehow leaked to (or stolen by) the NY Daily News and they posted it on their website. Sadly, my life had peaked then at age 46 but still...I got the photo!!This got a little long, Jill, but I hope you had fun reading it. I had a blast reliving it.

Sunday, September 16, 2012

One of my favorite shows has finally returned this past Friday--Shark Tank.

This show was one of the few shows that I started to watch because my mother insisted that I do. I grudgingly watched an ep and shortly thereafter became addicted. The addiction just happened to coincide when the dynamic of the tank was changed up with the introduction of Mark Cuban, who replaced that guy who's name I don't remember.

I love each of the sharks in different ways and really can't lay a name to a favorite--Mark, Daymond, Kevin, Barbara, and Robert (who's kinda cute) are all awesome in different ways.

This season started off great, though the sharks do seem to have more of a cohesive unity about them, and even worked out a deal involving all of them for this season's first ep. Perhaps it's because they now know each other a bit more, or maybe the show called for it. Unsure, but I do look forward to seeing them Fridays.

Friday, September 14, 2012

Yesterday, I had my first reading for Fangirl (hence the howling abyss on this blog yesterday). So today, in celebration of the success that was and the upcoming reading I'll have October 3rd at Beverly Branch Library, I'm going to go ahead and post chapter 1 in its entirety here. First, my Fangirl celebrity promo mash-up vid, which I worked so hard on, and then the chapter.

I get up early and hop in the shower, eagerly letting the hot spray of
water wash yesterday off of me, and its warmth complimenting the happy feeling
coming from the inside.

I'm excited.

And I am excited because come this time tomorrow, I will be in LA for the very
first time.

It's not like I came from a small town or anything like that and I'm
wetting my panties to get to the “big city—born and raised in Chicago, here. And not a surrounding suburb of Chicago, but the actual city of. Funny thing
is, my town—my slice of the WindyCity is the originalBeverly Hills. That's right. Contrary to popular belief,
it's still within the city limits, and is the highest point in the state. We
have actual hills due to a giant glacier from like, a long time ago. Anyway, my
Beverly Hills? Was established during the 1890s.
The West Coast copy, well...theirs wasn't established till 1906.

How you like them apples?

So, enough with the history lesson. Let me fill you in on why this trip
is so entirely tremendous. My twenty-first birthday is next week, and
this, ladies and gents, is a treat to myself. My favorite actor from a cult hit
of a show that's been off the air for a few years is releasing a solo album,
and I bought a ticket to the album release party. I've never met him before,
and I cannot tell you how...friggin' scared and happy and all kinds of other
indescribable feelings I am right now. I've crushed on him ever since the
tender age of thirteen, when the show first came on. The moment Weston Moore
walked on the screen...I was totally enchanted. Not that I was alone—enough
viewers were captivated by him that his initially disposable villain of a
character who was supposed to have been killed off after a paltry three
episodes got extended several years. This was then followed by his own
spinoff. That only lasted five years, but it was an amazing run.

I've been to a couple of local conventions before, and met some of the other
cast members (well, more like supporting cast). Not to mention other celebs
from other shows and films, but this? This was like the missing piece of those
awkward adolescent days or something. I was never terribly popular or even
pretty back then, but I always imagined that if I could just meet him and he
could see the real me, then...I don't know that everything would be sunshine
and rainbows or something. See, you gotta understand just how craptastic those
"awkward years" were for me. I know I'm not the only one, but hey,
this is my story.

I grew up feeling ugly and unloved with no boyfriend for like...well
fancy that, never. Well, sadly not officially, anyway. So, here I am, with a
bit more confidence and finally knowing my way around some press powder, blush
and mascara, and a nice Cleopatra inspired hair do. Put on a few pounds since
high school, but it doesn't look bad—curves are in the right place, and
anything that ain't, well, it's nothing a body-shaper can't fix. They may be
uncomfortable, but they're really magical things for anyone who wants to wear a
form fitting dress with a few problem areas. And, to top it all off, my
cinnamon colored skin evened out. Goodbye, teen acne!

My bags are mostly packed, and a cab will be waiting outside my house in
the morning to whisk me away to the airport, and then I'll be in that
industry-laden land known as LA before I know it.

And just in case it isn't clear why I'm bothering to do all this...

I'm a fangirl—hardcore.

----

The first time I was ever on a plane, I was probably about two years
old. I don't remember it, of course, but I was accustomed to planes for quite
some time. That is until, I had a horrible re-entry from D.C. back to Chicago a
couple of years ago from a conference (not to be confused with a convention).
The turbulence was awful. There was a thunderstorm that night, and the
plane shook and rattled the entire time, surrounded in the inky blackness of
the night sky. I'd never been so frightened in my entire life. I actually held
the hand of a stranger next to me. She'd been at the conference as well, but I
didn't know who the crap she was. Anyway, ever since then, I've been nervous
about getting back on a flight.

But I sit there in the exit row, feigning calmness as I grip the hand
rests on either side of me. The stewardess asks if I'd like a beverage, and I
immediately opt to pay for whatever liquor they have available. And yes, even
though I'm not twenty-one yet, due to my stature, coming in at five foot
eleven, and the fact that I apparently have one of those ageless faces, I am
not carded.

Small favors.

I eventually fall asleep with my headphones on, and when I wake up,
we're only twenty minutes away from landing. The pilot tells all passengers via
intercom that the weather is in the high seventies with mild winds. All in all,
perfect vacation weather.

The butterflies in my stomach have waned, and my trip is soon to really
start. I just have to get my luggage, pick up my Rent-A-Wreck (which is loads
cheaper than other rental brands, let me tell you), then head to the Westin
Hotel.

LA, here I come.

----

The hotel is lovely. I have to say that I've really outdone myself here.
I guess it's just...I really wanted this birthday to be special. I suppose the
sad part is that I had to make this trip alone. None of my friends had the time
or the money, or even liked the show that Weston was on. Or are fangirls. Most
of my fangirl buddies are online—in forums, reviewers of fan fiction (and
yes...I've written my fair share of fan fiction), LiveJournal and the like.
Perhaps I'll run into some of them at this event.

The hotel—it's crisp with fresh white linens, spacious, with a shower to die
for. And all for a great, low price. Thanks, Orbitz! And the bed—one of those
Sleep Number deals. Oh, I wish I could take this mattress home with me.
It'd make for one hell of a souvenir, anyway.

So, now that I'm all unpacked, I get my site seeing shorts on and my
sunglasses, ready to go exploring.

----

The car is comfortable enough.

Decided to pay for the upgrade and get a medium sized one. Long legs
here, and since I'll be doing a lot of driving on my own, it was worth the few
extra bucks.

I wish planes were as simple as that.

The best seats for me are the exit rows. There's no better place to stretch
out, and that's including "first class" on regular flights.

As I drive around, I go past a neighborhood called Little Ethiopia.
Can't really deviate from my intended destination, but I thought it was an
interesting sight. I don't have a GPS—I just look stuff up on Google maps on my
laptop, write it down, and try not to get myself lost. It's not foolproof, but
it's a lot cheaper than buying more technology. I mean, those kind of trends
just aren't my thing. Just because there's some new doodad out on the market,
doesn't mean I have to buy it. For instance, I have had the same Razr phone for
the last four years, and I don't plan on getting a new one until this one craps
out and dies on me. Sure, some of my friends make fun of me for it, but hey,
I'm an individual.

The traffic is...slow. Dreadfully slow.

It seems that everyone in this city loves driving just under the speed
limit. I'm not sure why that is, but the only thing that I know is that it's
really starting to frustrate the fuck out of me. And then the thing that makes
it even worse is that the guy in the car in front of me just tossed a cigarette
butt out of his window. Man, does shit like that make me see red. I mean, there
are little ashtrays in cars. And even if there doesn't happen to be one in
yours, stop being an inconsiderate douche-bag and don't litter the earth.

It's kind of a funny thing for me, cigarettes...

I once smoked a whole one when I was eighteen just so I wouldn't be a
hypocrite in my vehement dislike of them. I really just don't get the appeal of
smoking. But I also think that smoking, at times, can look sexy. I think I'd
looked wickedly cool smoking a cigarette.

Weston Moore's character would smoke. But Weston himself—he quit ages
ago (or so I read), and the cigarettes his character would light up on the
series were merely herbal. Anyway, there was just a finesse he had when he
handled one. He'd take out a lighter, put the filter to his mouth, and light it
in one seemingly fluid motion. And the way he would exhale...something about
his face just made me think of sex.

Then again, most of the things he did reminded me of sex or being sexy.

Like, the way he walks. He takes these long strides and just exudes
confidence—like he's got the biggest dick in the world or something. I've never
seen him walk out of character, so I'm equally curious and excited to see him
just for that. Okay, that's not entirely true. I'm nervous as hell to meet him.
It's not happening until tomorrow, and my stomach is already in knots. I don't
know why—he's just a regular guy.

Yeah—a guy I've been crushing on since age
thirteen. Lame.

I've seen plenty of interviews of him on TV and various comic con panels
online, but it's just not the same. Yes, I am nervous as hell.

But I'm ready.

I finally make my way towards Hollywood Boulevard. The parking for the mall there has a great
rate—four bucks for eight hours. My plan is to see some of the Walk of Fame,
Madame Tussaud's, and of course, the mall itself. Yeah, it's all touristy stuff
but hell, I am a tourist. I plan on seeing some of the
neighborhoods—specifically Beverly Hills and Rodeo Drive later in the week, but today will be a bit more generic.

I find myself overwhelmed by all of the people in costumes on the
strip—Batman, Spider-man, Marilyn Monroes and Captain Jacks. Oh—a slightly
perverse Sponge Bob, who loves to hug all of the young women. I manage to get
out of his spongy embrace and see Catwoman and another Marilyn, a Hulk, and I
wonder to myself about the dedication these folks have, being out here in this
heat and in costume and heavy makeup. Well, the Marilyn costume seems fairly
easy—all flowy, white material and a wig. But then I look at the bulkier
costumes, like the guy dressed as a giant Predator. Man, I'm not sure you could
pay me enough...

I then find myself at Grauman's Chinese Theatre, looking at the
footprints. The women back then sure did run quite tiny. I put my feet on top
of—and not so much in—some of their footprints. I remember some interview where
George Clooney said to wear shoes bigger than your normal size so as to appear
more manly. This now makes me look at the prints in cement—the male actors
anyway—a bit more dubiously.

I walk around a bit more and then end up at Madame Tussaud's. One of the
first statues I see is The Rock. Oh, how I adore him. I had my big,
girly crush on him about the same time as the one I started on Weston. I
haven't met him yet either, but if the chance ever presents itself...hmm. If he
did cons in the early years, he certainly isn't doing it now. But no matter—one
step at a time, right?

So, I'm walking and seeing all of these folks, frozen in time—Vivien
Leigh and Robert DeNiro. Heh, Lucille Ball. I take a picture with her—she
really is an idol of mine—a true inspiration. So many people would tell her,
well rather, Lucy Ricardo, “No,” and she would find a most creative way around
it. She didn't always find success, but the point was that she would try.
And that's all one can really do, right? Is to try. The answer is always “no”
until you ask. So with that in mind, I figure it can't hurt to...well, I'll get
to that in a minute.

I round the corner, and I see wax figures from my favorite TV
show—including one of Weston, in costume as his cult hit character—dark blue
button down, leather pants and black combat boots.

Damn if that man didn't rock leather.

I pause, looking at the waxy skin and glassy blue eyes. It's cool, yet
creepy, and I wonder if this is his actual real life size. I remember at one of
the cons back home in Rosemont, they had these "life size" card board
cut outs, and that was pretty nifty. But this here was full 3D. I took a pic
with "him" and the other two characters from the show, and kept on
moving. Tomorrow would be the big day, and I would finally get to see the man
myself in the flesh.

Here's hoping I don't vomit on his shoes.

Oh, thinking of shoes reminded me that I don't have a suitable pair to
wear with my pink cocktail dress tomorrow. I head to Aldo in the mall, and buy
a ridiculously high pair of black wedge thingies, but they look really cute and
slim my calves. I notice a black belt and a nice black and white bag on sale,
and decide to get those as well.

This will certainly jazz up my outfit.

I decided at the last minute that I needed to have a "look." I
wanted to make a statement, and what I had on its own just wasn't it. But this
little venture to the mall pleased me greatly, and now, I feel that my
confidence level is where it should be.

Well, higher than before.

----

I have dinner at one of the many, many sushi restaurants. I like how LA
has grade ratings for all of the restaurants out here. I don't plan on going to
any place with less than an “A.” I have a glass of plum wine and a couple of
sushi rolls and sashimi, and I finally start to feel myself really relax. This
is a vacation after all, and I shouldn't be so nervous.

But here's the deal: I plan on asking Weston Moore out. As in, on
a date or for a drink or something. Or at the very least, plan on slipping him
my number.

Why, you ask? Because...why not? I don't have anything to lose. Hey, I'm
young, single, and he's older and single...and there's just something inside of
me that wants to try. Weston was one of my schoolgirl crushes, and I think it'd
be nice to know if it's possible to, well, get with him. Ugh, there has to be a
less dirty way to phrase that...I mean, I'm just gonna ask him for a drink.

I really do think he is a regular guy, in spite of how nervous this
whole thing makes me. But I figure I can't not go for the dream. And if he says
no, I won't be anywhere less than where I am now. And it wouldn't be the first
time I've ever asked a guy out or told a guy I liked him—been doing that since
the fifth grade. Don't know why other than, if I see something or someone I
want, I just went for it. Sure, there's the option of sitting there and pining,
but what's the point of that? I believe in making your own luck as opposed to
sitting back and waiting for things to happen, and that's what I'm going to
attempt to do here.

I've been in his fandom and the fandom of his show since I was sixteen,
and I guess I'm now officially tired of watching from afar.

I take my dress out of the closet of my hotel room and hang it in the
bathroom, getting ready to steam it. And I sincerely hope that when he sees me
in this little number tomorrow, that he will notice me in the best of ways.

----

It took about forty minutes to drive from the Westin Hotel at LAX to the
Busby Mile High Club. In spite of my nifty directions, I veered off of La
Cienega to Fairfax. In fact, the street Fairfax, though one
lane, chock full of gridlock and scaring me out of my mind that I was going to
be late, put me closer to the club than the former. Perhaps I should have done
reconnaissance the day before, but my procrastinating nature had me miss that
boat.

Anyway, I find a kickass parking spot at this postal office parking lot (for
free), almost directly behind the club, opt to not wear the
three-and-a-half-inch heels I bought, slip on my flip flops and head in. Once
going up the steep stairs to the upper level of the building, I see lots of
women milling about in this room off to the side of the bar. Through a pair of
double doors leading to the concert/club portion, I can see Weston, wearing a
white T-shirt and jeans, talking to a couple of people. There he is, in the
flesh. I think "hmm," ignoring the acceleration of my heart, hope I
won't start nervously sweating under my arms or on my face as I am so prone to
do when overly nervous, and wonder when the damn thing will start. There's
supposed to be a mingling meet and greet, a question and answer, photo ops,
autographs, and then a concert of the album material that evening.

A few minutes later, after becoming rapidly tired, annoyed and just a bit hurt
at how the women in the room pretty much ignored me, and having no one to talk
to, I reach into my newly purchased bag to get my cell phone, only to find that
it wasn't there. I rush back to my car to retrieve my forgotten cell, and rush
back slowly to the club (and by slowly, I mean...I went briskly, but I'm trying
like hell here to not sweat my carefully applied makeup). I slip on my heels
and then go back up the stairs to see that they still haven't started. There's
some kind of problem with the lighting, allegedly. So, at about twenty or
thirty after, we're allowed to go in, pick a seat, and free to grab some of the
crackers, cheese, veggies or fruit spread out, or a drink from the bar. I
hadn't eaten all day, but I was too nervous for even rabbit food.

I go to the bar, get a bottle of four dollar water, and try to pull
myself together. It is then of course, that as soon as I turn around, there he
is—standing a couple of yards away from me in an old Hell's Angels leather
jacket, which was a tad peculiar, given the heat. Perhaps it was prop? Anyway,
the picture taking has begun. After a widening of the eyes of the first fan—a
large breasted woman fawning all over him in the tiniest of tube tops for a D
or double D cup, I mosey on along to the end of the line, sipping from the
water bottle slowly. The woman in line ahead of me, a tad older and the only
other black person for miles, asked if my nerves were getting to me.

Of course they
are.

“Yeah. I do feel just this side of nauseous,” I say to her, smiling
slightly.

“Me too. First time?”

“Yeah.”

“Mine too. Sort of. But an opportunity presents itself—”

“And you gotta take it,” I finish. We smile at each other.

“I'm Cassandra.”

"I'm Khloe," I said, extending my hand to her. We shake, and I
think I have a good feeling about this girl.

"So, this your first time to the rodeo, huh?"

"Yeah," I replied, looking over at Weston.

"Well, I've only been to a convention he was at. But, I told my
husband that I wanted to do something special for me, and this is pretty
unique."

"It is. That's why I decided to come. For my birthday."

"Oh, it's your birthday? Happy birthday to you, then!"

"Thank you." I smile politely.

"Well, it's not my birthday. Every once in awhile I just get
restless and simply have to do something for me without the ol' ball and
chain."

"That sounds fun."

"It'd be more fun if I had more friends into this kind of stuff. Or
rather, any friends into this kind of stuff."

"I know what you mean. I had to come out here all by my lonesome
because...well, no one else gets it. This whole 'fangirl' thing. The only
people I know who like this stuff I haven't exactly met."

"Ooh, you mean fandom people?" Her eyes kind of lit up at
that.

"Yeah. I write fan fiction, and made some friends on LiveJournal,
that sort of thing."

"Me too! Well, not the 'write fan fic' part so much as read it, but
I do iconing and banners. What's your name on there?"

I tell her, and it turns out we're both terribly familiar with each
other. We embrace in a big hug, happy to have "found" each other.

So, the line has moved quite rapidly during all of this...and I try to
ignore the nerves that seem to be eating holes in the lining of my stomach and
intestines. It feels awful, honestly. I have no idea why I'm so nervous. I
mean, he is just a guy...

So what if I've had a crush on him since I was thirteen, during those
awkward adolescent years where I felt the awkwardness extra hard... That's no
big deal.

Nope.

Who cares if he's going to look at me, and if it's in disgust, I might
crumple into a gigantic pile of dust or run away or wish to be deep under a
rock somewhere...

Okay, this is all getting away from me just a tad. I need a drink. Like,
a strong one. But that can't possibly be good...

I drink some more water, and try to phase out all of the conversations
going on around me, and not stare at Weston. Nope, definitely not gonna do
that. Cause staring is bad, and my mom taught me way better than that.
Manners good; staring bad.

I was only three people away, I found myself gripping the rails that
were used as a wall for the upper level above and next to me for support, then
wrapping my arms (I abandoned the water so that I could be jittery unhindered)
around my torso. And then before I knew it, it was my turn.